Not Counting
by Lithium Delusions
Summary: What can you do when you can't stop seeing time pass, seeing the seconds slip away into years? She hasn't stopped counting since he left. Jill's POV. Reviews are welcomed.


_**Not Counting**_

Disclaimers: All characters contained herein are the sole property of the party of the first part, one Matsuri Akino-sama. The parties of the second part, one Akita and partner Subu-chan lay no legal claim to any of the properties contained herein. (Wow, Subu-chan, I should let you watch Law and Order more often!)

_A/N- This fic was written in a burst of inspiration and at random moments throughout the day. (i.e.- lunch and whenever I had a moment and a scrap of paper. So yes, it was written in longhand first.) When I got off, I hurried to type it up and let Akita go over it so we could post it. It seems a little repetitive, but that is on purpose. Hope you enjoy it.  
_

Not that she was counting or anything, but it had been eight years and six months since the day Count D and his pet shop vanished-seemingly right off the face of the earth. And had taken a small part of her world with him-not to mention just how much of someone else's world had shattered when they had discovered the empty rooms where the pet shop had been.

It had been eight years since Leon Orcot had taken off after him. He would have taken off sooner, but his own injuries held him back. She had known from the first that he wouldn't stay; had known there was no peace for him anywhere but wherever D was. No rest, either. She had seen the beginnings of that in those six months before he could wait no longer. She had helped him-helped him sell off everything he owned and take off after the faintest rumor of man-eating pets. For a while, she had kept a watch for him, calling him with reports of odd deaths.

It had been seven years and a month since she had gotten the last of his increasingly sporadic phone calls from some distant corner of the US. He had said that he was going overseas to look for D. He was boarding a flight as they spoke. When she had tried to reach him a few days later she had gotten an automated message saying that his phone was no longer receiving calls. A call to his service provider had not cleared up the mystery one bit. His bill was paid and the roaming feature active, but no calls could get through.

It had been six years, a month, and four days since she had received the last of his letters-this one a hastily scrawled note on the back of a postcard showing Big Ben on the front. It was postmarked in London, the date nearly three months before she had gotten it. There was no explanation for the delay.

It had been five years since she had given up searching for odd and unexplained deaths, forever hoping that her phone would ring and Leon would ask her if she had a new lead for him. It had been four years and three months since she had stopped hoping for that miracle.

It had been three years and two months since she had begun to keep an eye on Interpol reports of unidentified bodies, her heart sinking a little lower every time a description had begun with "Unidentified Caucasian male, between thirty to forty years of age, blonde hair…" She had even gone so far as to view the photos, dreading to see a familiar face there. The relief at not finding him among them had been tempered by the knowledge that next time, it might not be a stranger to her that she saw there.

It had been two years and four months since she had decided not to do that anymore because it was depressing her. It had been two years, three months and twenty days since she couldn't take the suspense and started reading the reports again. She still read them.

It had been a year and seven months since she had spoken to Chris. His unflagging belief that his older brother was still alive had given her a boost to her spirits. That had lasted until she had hung up the phone and started crying, depressed that she didn't have that much faith in Leon. She hadn't called back since, a little afraid of what she might say.

It had been nine months since she had found a stray cat on her doorstep, tawny fur plastered down by the thunderstorm that was passing. She had taken it (her, she had later learned to the cat's indignation) in, fascinated by eyes the same shade of blue as Leon's. The cat's attitude had reminded her of him too, all tough guy but with an affectionate side that showed every now and again. She had named her Leo and cried into her fur sometimes when the worry about her namesake became too much to bear.

It had been six months since she had taken a vacation, because the last time she went out of town she had run into a group of people whom Leon had saved on the vacation he couldn't remember. One of them had a picture of Leon, leaning against the whitewashed side of a building, watching his little brother leading D around by the hand. It was the picture that caught her attention, drawing her into the conversation. And they were so eager to talk about the young man who saved their lives and the beautiful man who was with him. When, hardly daring to hope, she asked it they had seen either of them lately, she had been treated to confused (or worse, pitying) looks. No, she was reminded. They were just reminiscing.

It had been a week since she had last wandered into the Chinatown district. The façade of the shop was still there, but everything else had been stripped away. The door hung open only on emptiness. She had turned and walked away as fast as her feet could carry her, a lump in her throat. She would never go back there again. Seeing the empty place where the shop had been hurt like an open wound.

It had been an hour since she had been able to get any work done, with her thoughts drifting back to Leon and D. Coming back from the ladies room, she had just made up her mind to go home when she saw the Fed-Ex uniform leaving her office. A package was usually evidence and she dared not leave it sitting for long.

It had been twenty minutes since the Fed-Ex envelope had been dropped on her desk. She opened it to find another envelope inside, this one battered and bearing such a mélange of postage marks and stamps that it looked like it had been routed through Zimbabwe… with a few hundred stops along the way. There was no return address.

It had been eighteen minutes since she had used a nail file to slit the envelope open and pulled out something carefully shrouded in layer upon layer of bubble-wrap.

It had been fifteen minutes since she had pried the last piece of tape loose and carefully unwrapped the plastic. It was a picture framed in dark wood and she turned it over in trembling hands. It slipped out of her fingers and fell to the blotter with a thunk, landing undamaged and right-side-up.

It had been… Jill realized that she did not know. For the first time in over eight years she had stopped counting-entranced by the face grinning at her from the picture.

A tear slipped down her nose as she stared in disbelief at Leon Orcot's grinning face and landed on the glass, between Leon's head and the head of the man Leon had his arm wrapped around. She had never seen such a contented expression in those blue eyes and his smile was one that she had not seen in eight years and… she grinned through the tears as she realized she had lost count.

And Leon had found his Count at last.

The proof was in the picture-Leon holding D against his side like he would never let go, and both of them waving cheerily at the camera. Nothing to say where they were-only a railing behind them and an endless blue sea, but it was clear to the most inexperienced eyes that they were happy.

Jill wondered even as she was putting the picture up on her desk whether she would ever see the two of them again…

Not that she was counting or anything.


End file.
